SAHSBEP
by Sydney Andrews
Summary: Sydney Andrews' Halloween Special Bonus Expansion Pack.
1. The Knight Shift

**1. The Knight Shift**

**D**awning in Zion came from the bottom up, clawing its way along the toothy cylinder of the city in an electrical flicker, more like lightning than sunlight. The process moved one level at a time, oscillating in color and intensity before finally establishing a vapid white gloom and moving on to the next, higher level. The noise was such that someone watching from above might have the idea of floating over an invisible thunderhead, and though Knight had abandoned the catwalk long ago and gone inside, he thought he could hear it coming. Or it could have been the sound of his groaning.

He lay naked, face-up on the bed. On the nightstand beside him sat a plate of barely-touched flatbread buried beneath a small mountain of powdered sugar. He was wet from an icy shower that hadn't helped his situation at all - it was an unusually hot morning and his apartment was like a crucible – and already the beads of water covering his chest and shoulders were mixing with a sheen of sweat. Not that the heat had anything to do with his particular kind of discomfort. The temperature didn't even occur to him as he stared at the rock above him, running his hand through the damp blonde curls on his head and then gripping them in a fist, tugging until he gave himself pain.

Nothing helped; it was hopeless. He was completely and utterly undone.

Breasts. She had… _breasts!_ Knight grunted at the memory and turned over, smothering his face in the pillow. It wasn't that he'd never seen breasts before. But _her_ breasts! They were small and flawlessly white, cupped in two demilunes of nude lace with a tiny bow in the middle. A _bow!_ He wanted to die. Suicide was the answer. Nothing short of death-then-purgatory could release him from the hell of knowing the full sweet torment of that bow.

Every moment brought fresh agony, as he remembered. He could not keep himself from remembering. The first memory was powder-soft skin and artfully-placed birthmarks – one over her heart, and another just to the right of her navel. As if a master painter had placed them there and not Nature at all. Then, he remembered the lacy underwear (a match to the much-beloved brazier), lifted from her tummy by jutting hipbones. The fabric was darkened in the center by the triangle of pubic hair it was supposed to hide; he'd noticed a rogue curl escaping one of the edges. He was perverse! But he made himself see it all again, especially when she turned around to gather the rest of her gown, and he was treated to a view of the back of her. Cutely, probably self-consciously, her bottom was puckered as she dressed.

And _that_ was delicious – the thought of Rorie's being modest, after stripping off her clothes in a public avenue! What had come over her? A newly blossoming part of him fantasized that she'd done it because she'd secretly wanted to show herself off to him. It was her clumsy attempt at seduction. She was angry with him for ignoring her all this time, for his countless indiscretions with other girls, for not making the first move despite all her flirtations (Knight was already compiling a list of possible examples of these flirtations, all of which were obvious in retrospect). So at last her patience broke and she threw off her clothes as a final, desperate plea for his attention. Of course, now she regretted it – she'd run away and hidden her face in her hands - but only because she thought it had all been in vain. All that remained for him to do was to go and tell her that he was a stupid oaf, a certifiable moron who did not deserve her. That was the first thing – self-deprecation to show his humility and esteem. But then he'd go on to admit that he'd thought of nothing but her since it happened, and that he couldn't get her out of his mind, and she didn't have to worry anymore because now he knew what she'd known all along. That they were perfect for one another. Simply, obviously, it was meant to be. To show her how serious he was he'd bring a gift of some kind. He'd find a book of sappy poetry that she didn't already have. Or jewellery. Was that not the standard romantic gift to give a woman? Surely, if he was intent on winning Rorie – _the_ Rorie- he'd have to woo properly, with class.

It is at this point that you, dear Reader, must acknowledge, if you have not done so already, that Knight was in _very_ serious trouble.

He knew it himself. Besides being a pervert and runaway egomaniac, he was also delusional. _Giving Rorie jewellery! 'Wooing'!_ While he was at it, he might as well build a spaceship and fly them both to the moon to have tea with the Mad Hatter and the March Hare.

The situation, as it existed in _reality_, was plain enough to him. Rorie had not been able to sleep after her harrowing ordeal, prompting her to come to him, seeking friendly comfort. As she had always done, and he in return, for the past ten years of their friendship. He was the one who'd been looking for something more. He was the one who had changed, though he hadn't been able to admit it to himself at the time. Now it was beyond denial. The unfamiliar feelings, buzzing madly in his subconscious, had caused him to blather something stupid – the joke about Morpheus' Pants – at the most inopportune moment. He did not blame Rorie for being frustrated with him. Or angry. She'd had every right to leave, and when he'd snatched the end of her dress like a lunatic, what other escape had he left her but to do exactly what she'd done? She'd thrown off her dress as a way out, and as punishment, a way of humiliating him. There was no kinky undercurrent of exhibitionism, no secret motivation to entice – all this was in his mind. Her raging jealousy was in his mind. The way she'd been looking at him lately, the strange gentleness of her touch - all in his mind. And when he thought of the Oracle and her prophecy that he and Rorie would never be together in this lifetime, it was only in his mind that she'd placed particular emphasis on the word _this._ Was Rorie not on what her father would call her 'second life'? Could this be an example of the Oracle's perverse affinity for wordplay? If so, then did this loophole apply to both of them, such that he, too must die and come back to life before they could be together? And could this be accomplished safely and privately with a bottle of pain killers and a pre-emptive call to the medbay?

Foolish hope! Suicidal hope! Knight let out a growl of contempt – for the Oracle, for Rorie, for his own stupidity – and swung his feet off the bed. Moodily, he looked for something to wear on the ground. He lived in a large, single-chambered cave dug into a type of igneous rock called kimberlite. Unlike the caramel-coloured sandstone from which most of Zion was built, this rock was dark and grainy, nearly black except for a modest dusting of crystals – green olivine, purple garnet, glittering diamond. In truth, Knight found the hodgepodge-kaleidoscope rather ugly. But after he'd graduated from the Academy, he and Rorie had gone apartment hunting together, and she'd been fascinated with what she assured him was a very unusual geological site. The rock, she'd explained, was a result of cooled magma which had flowed through the sediments millions of years ago. The particular pipe in which his cave happened to be built was home to rare minerals from the much-deeper mantle layer of the earth, which she was intent on studying. "I could study a cave like this for years and still not discover everything," she'd said. "I would do _anything_ to live in a place like this."

So he'd bought it, even though it was much too dark and the floor was so uneven he had to use a flight manual to prop up one leg of his desk.

Rorie used to spend weekends picking diamonds off his walls. He listened while she tried to explain the meanings of abstruse words like _xenocryst_ and _phlogopite_ and _magnesium-iron-silicate, _and then lectured about why it was important that he not only listen but understand what she was saying, because it was 'sinful' to be surrounded by so much natural history and not appreciate it. Knight remembered thinking at the time, rather snidely that Rorie didn't have any idea of what _sinful_ behaviour really was, if she believed his ignorance of geochemistry fell into that category.

She still didn't have a clue. He knew she didn't, and this presented for him a particular problem. The past ten years, she was like a younger sister to him - naïve, innocent, and sexually invisible. If he'd ever thought about her in the context of romance, it was in a defensive, brotherly way. He'd chaperoned her at parties and told the losers to take a hike, and, when she wasn't looking, told the winners to take a longer, more dangerous hike, all with the self-righteous idea of protecting her from the attentions of less-than-honourable men. Now Knight questioned his motivations. Subconsciously, had he been saving her for himself? No, he could not believe that. But certainly, he felt like a hypocrite. More than that, he felt like a fraud.

Was this not a betrayal? To Rorie, to their friendship, to Trinity and Neo, who had treated him like a son and now trusted him with their daughter's life?

It would be different, Knight thought, if he could be certain that his intentions were noble, that this was not just some passing infatuation. If somehow he could know that he was really in love.

And here he stopped, his briefs halfway up his legs and his heart halfway up his oesophagus. In _love_ with her. The thought arrested him instantly, inciting a change so fundamental, so significant, it affected him like a rewiring of every chemical synapse in his brain. In a hair's breadth of time, he emerged a radically changed person. Didn't he _already_ love her? Hadn't he _always_ loved her, in the dearest, most sincere and committed fashion, his entire adult life? The additional loving of her breasts and underpants seemed a small and natural extension of everything he'd already felt for her, always. Wasn't this enough to say he was properly, honourably, honestly _in_ love? If not, what more must he feel or do, or _want_ to do, before he could call himself worthy? Knight was very concerned about this. If he was missing some component, he wanted to know about it right away. Because if there was one thing he knew for sure, it was that nobody had sex with Rorie unless he loved her first. Not that this was his only goal. Not that this was _all_ he wanted. But if he was in love, wasn't he allowed to fantasize?

Bleary eyed, Knight slumped into the chair at his desk, his head in his hands. The delicacy of her! The sweetness! She was the sweetest, most beautiful thing imaginable and he'd always thought so! He wanted to shout it from the highest avenue in Zion. This was bliss! This was hell! How could he ever look at her again? How could he _not_ look? Would the memory of that bow and those breasts and that stray curl of pubic hair be enough to sustain him for the rest of his life? If only he had a picture!

Such was Knight's agitation that when he was interrupted by knocking at his door, he nearly fell off his chair. Feeling as if he'd been caught at something dirty (or at least embarrassing), he frantically searched around for his pants and a T-shirt. It occurred to him only after he was dressed that it could be only Rorie; nobody else would come so early. She had come to make up. Or she had come to yell at him some more. Either way, he had to look good. And smell good. So he doused himself with cologne to compensate for the unwashed clothing and rinsed his mouth with a nasty mixture of baking soda and water. The pounding at the door came more impatiently as he scrambled to hide the rest of his mess under the bed. In the mirror he checked himself, running his hands through his thick, frizzy curls, wishing he'd had the presence of mind to add wax after his shower. He smiled, not too much, just a friendly-sort-of-grin. There was nothing suspicious or sexually wanton about a friendly-sort-of-grin. Once he was satisfied that his boyish dimples were on display, Knight held that picture-perfect expression and opened the door. "Well, good morn--"

"Hello, Knight."

"Jesus Christ!"

"That's what the cultists call me. Scary sons of bitches. They make dolls out of my trash and put them under their pillows." The One looked tired and spoke seriously. "Your light was on so I thought I'd… pop in and say hello."

Knight's jaw dropped. In ten years, Neo had never _once_ come to visit him, _anywhere_. And he seldom, if ever, said hello, even when Knight said it first. The simple reason for this, Knight knew, was that Neo did not like him. And when you are the undisputed saviour of the last human civilization, you do not have to say hello to people you do not like.

Therefore it followed as Knight's logical conclusion that Neo had _not_ popped by to say hello. No, here there lurked a much more sinister motivation. _Murder!_ Neo had come to kill him, or at the very least, deliver a very good ass-kicking.

Knight had almost been expecting it. Simply stated, you don't punch a man in the face, French-kiss his wife and then fantasize about having sex with his daughter and not expect to get blowback. But how had Neo found out? Rorie had promised that the first two offences would be kept secret, and the third was so unspeakable he'd probably end up taking it to the grave. How, then? Was the One really omniscient, as the aforementioned doll-making cultists believed? But it didn't matter. Somehow, Neo knew about one of these things, or some combination of two, or all three, and now it was time to settle the score. It would be bad, Knight knew, but he promised himself he would not lose his dignity. He'd take the beating like a man. Or perhaps he'd run away.

"Can I come in?" Neo asked.

"Of course," Knight replied, looking around for witnesses. There were none. "Come right in."

"I'm sorry I've come so early," Neo said once they were both inside and the door was shut (but not locked). "As you know, it's difficult for me to walk around in public once the streets get crowded."

"Right. Of course."

"One of the disadvantages of my position. Of being the One."

"I understand."

"With great power comes great responsibility."

"Yes, I agree."

"Oh? You do?"

"Well, I can imagine."

"What is that? That smell."

"What smell?"

"Are you wearing cologne?"

"No. Well, yes. A little."

"You put on cologne for me?"

"Actually, I put it on before I went to bed."

"You wore cologne to bed?"

"It keeps the sheets smelling good."

Neo frowned. This was it. Knight stayed close to the front door, ready to bolt. He had made a deal with himself. He'd stay until there was blood. If he started bleeding, he would run. It seemed like the most reasonable place to draw the line.

But the older man didn't make a move. Instead, he shoved his hands in his pockets and looked around the apartment, his attention resting on the dirty dishes piled on the desk.

"I'm sorry for the mess," Knight said.

"Oh, no. I was just… remembering."

"Sir?"

"A long time ago, I… and by that I mean Anderson… well, I used to be a little messy, too. Leaving things lying around, clothes and things. Trin used to… well, you know Trinity. Amazing how a woman will change you. One day, you'll see."

There was silence as the two of them stared at one another. Still not ruling out the possibility that Neo was there to beat him up, Knight took a step away. After half a minute, Neo continued carefully.

"Or any partner," he said. "I'm not close-minded about these things. If it's a guy, that's fine, too. What's important is that you love one another."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm just saying, I wouldn't judge anybody either way."

"Either way of what? What do you mean?" Knight knew exactly what Neo meant and he was horrified. This was worse than anything he'd imagined. "I'm not gay."

"I'm not saying you are. Just if you _were_… or some people are in the middle. Or if you're confused--"

"_You're_ confused. I'm straight."

"You know what, just forget it." Neo shrugged his shoulders and looked at the door, as if he, too were considering the option of running away. "I'm just here because… look, Trin sent me."

"Trin thinks I'm gay?" Knight nearly fainted. Then, panic set in as he considered another possibility. "Does Rorie? What about Rorie? Oh, God, tell me. _Rorie_ doesn't, does she?"

"No. I told you, forget it. It was a mistake for me to say anything. I take it all back. I just wanted to come down here - Trin thought I should come down here - and we could talk. Man-to-man."

"I'm not gay."

"I just meant, have a _discussion._"

Knight was dubious. "About what?"

"About… your place in the family." The One must have noticed Knight's incredulous expression, because he then asked, "What's the matter with that?"

"Nothing. Only that… well, to be frank, sir, I'm a little surprised to hear you acknowledge that I even have a place in your family."

If Neo was taken aback by the accusation of prejudice, he didn't show it. He did, however, seem thoughtfully tolerant of him now, if not downright remorseful. Knight had the urge to tell him not to worry about it. Growing up, he had harboured no desire for a father-figure in Neo. There was a short time when he had looked up to him, in the way that almost every young boy in Zion looked up to The One, but this idolatry passed as soon as he saw Neo try to dance at a Temple gathering. And besides, if finally being 'accepted' by Neo meant being accepted as his daughter's gay best friend, then Knight would politely pass.

Neo began, "You and I," but then changed his mind. He looked into Knight's eyes and spoke matter-of-factly. "Trin saved me, too," he said. "So I understand the connection you have to her. With her." Knight only nodded. Neo trudged on. "You should know that Trinity is very proud of you. I have no doubt she'll tell you so herself. And she _should_ be proud. She did a good job with you, given what she had to work with. She raised you right. Taught you kung-fu, hacking, table manners. That sort of thing. There is no question that she's always thought of you as a son. You have a lot of reasons to be grateful to her."

(In the supreme awkwardness of the moment, Knight tried to hide how touched he was by the suggestion that Trinity was proud of him. If he showed any emotion at all, this might reinforce certain misconceptions about his sexuality.)

"And I know that you and I haven't exactly been very close," Neo said. "I think maybe we just got off on the wrong foot. Because… you know, you threw up on me."

"I'm sorry about that."

"And that thing you do every year, having Trin kiss you under the paprika… that really gets on my nerves. It doesn't help things."

"You're right. I'll stop that."

"Or maybe, if you could just do it with Rorie instead, it might be more appropriate."

"I think you're right." The thought of Rorie's lips on his cheek sent a pleasant tingle through his groin. "_Much_ more appropriate."

"And about Rorie…"

Knight's heart stopped. "Yes?"

"I'll tell you, there is nothing more important to me that my daughter. When it comes to her safety and happiness, I don't trust many people."

"I understand."

"The thing is, Knight, it's very possible that she wouldn't be here today if it weren't for you. You saved her life, and I will always be grateful to you for that. So… well, I hope you'll accept my thanks. In spite of everything."

Neo held out his hand. Dazed, Knight took it.

"And uhm…" Neo dug in his pocket and pulled out five-and-a-half. "You can buy yourself a beer."

"…What?"

"You do drink, don't you?"

"Well, I do. Sometimes."

"So take the money and treat yourself. You deserve it. And come by the house to eat tonight, alright? We'd love to have you."

Before Knight could fully appreciate the stupidity of accepting the money or the obvious problem of seeing Rorie at dinner that evening, he'd already accepted the invitation and pocketed the coins.

He'd use them to buy her a gift. Knight returned to his initial, absurd idea of jewellery. Earrings. Gemstones, to sparkle against the pitch curtain of her hair. If he hurried, he could probably find a pretty enough pair at the marketplace by suppertime.


	2. Ranting and Rorie

**2. Ranting and Rorie**

**I**t was late morning, almost noon, but the house was quiet and for all Rorie knew, she was alone. She had not left her bedroom, or even lifted her head from the pillow, lying snugly cocooned in expensive blankets, for hours slipping between thoughtful misery and dreams unfathomable. Pyro brooded nearby, irritated but otherwise quietly sympathetic.

Devastated, humiliated, and most of all deeply hurt, Rorie could not bring herself to talk to the spider. Her only escape was sleep, and when that became impossible she let herself stare up and away, remembering and imagining, how things were and how they might have been different. Sometimes she was confused. Sometimes – truthfully, more often – she was angry. But always and under it all, Rorie knew that something very fundamental had shifted, that she'd been shown a Great Truth, and her relationship with Knight would never be the same. She wanted to cry for the loss of the friendship, but she was still too angry to do that. She wanted to condemn him for the damage he'd done, but she had too much pride to show him she cared. Instead, she pursed her lips and thought of ways she could distance herself from him without making it appear deliberate – the trick was, she decided, to make it appear natural. Her indifference would be his punishment. No, not indifference. Her happiness, bliss – euphoria! – in everything except his company, would be his punishment. Yes, it was an excellent plan. Rorie wiped back tears. It was so excellent a plan she could not wait to begin its execution.

So she threw off the comforter, planted her feet resolutely on the ground and marched to the closet, uplifted with the notion she was now _officially_ ignoring him. To maintain the newfound high, Rorie knew she needed the perfect dress in which to ignore him. None of her usual clothing would do. The closet was filled with monuments to her dowdy taste in fashion – shapeless, artless frocks and the more popular alternative, _pants_. Pants would never do. You could not ignore a boy while wearing pants. Even Rorie, who flaunted and revelled in the intellectual tomboy aesthetic, knew _that_ much about the dress code of feminism.

There were gowns in the back she had never worn, most of them gifts from her mother, who definitely knew a thing or two about ignoring men (usually, Neo). Bravely, Rorie ran her fingers over the accordion of hangers, feeling the rich fabric, stopping at a cross-section of deep, sensual violet. Curious, she plucked this one off the rack and held it up for inspection, confounded as she couldn't quite figure out the mechanism. The skirt was simple enough, flaring out like an inverted flower, blossoming around the knee. The top was a mystery. It was missing an entire side – the _back_ side, she hoped – tying high around the neck, and again around the waist. Impossible to use a bra. She could never wear such a thing! Pyro wanted to know why not. But spiders didn't know anything about the need for bras, so Rorie ignored the question and took the dress to her full-length mirror, hooking it over top of the glass. When she caught her reflection in the pane, she paused, transfixed, frowning. Something about herself made her want to scream.

She pulled out her braids and shook the loose, raven waves over her shoulders, and then pressed her lips together and bit down, making them wet and red. Her nightgown, more like a giant sac than a garment, was the next thing to go. Slowly, nearly seductively, she lifted it over her head, watching herself with strange interest. She tossed it away and rearranged her hair, clad in the same underthings she'd had on earlier that morning. This is what he'd seen, she thought. _This_ is what Knight had found so amusing.

Rorie stared at her reflection but what she saw was _his_ face, his reaction to her undressed body. It all returned to her with crystal clarity, unbidden, haunting. She didn't know why she'd taken off her dress on the catwalk. The reasoning – if there had been any reasoning at all – for what she had done was eclipsed by the act actually of doing it, of the dress brushing against her skin as she slipped it off, of a warm draft curling sickly around her waist, between her thighs. It was like a nightmare. But she could have endured the humiliation, all of it could have been overcome with time, had she not looked up at him and seen his expression as she demanded he release her train.

He was _smiling_. Rorie swallowed a welling of emotion as she recalled the horrible cruelty of it. The wicked glint of humour in his eyes, sparkling and golden, was like nothing she'd ever seen or expected. He'd _never_ looked at her like that before. Unkindly. Mockingly. _Selfishly_. As if all her angst, everything she felt was nothing to him, as if she were a fool putting on a show that fell tragically short of his expectations. What was it?

Her size in some places, her lack of size in others? Rorie moved her fingers over her skin, caressing herself from hip to breast. She did not dislike her body, but clearly, she was not beautiful. She had inherited none of her mother's curves, none of her subtle command of sexuality, but only a plain kind of daintiness, like chiselled porcelain rich in detail but lacking in form. Surely, Knight had seen many girls – made love to many girls – none of whom looked anything like her. How stupid and childlike she must have appeared to him, flaunting her awkward charms in a public street! What a sad moment indeed, when an educated, intelligent young woman is displayed and judged by the same standards as a common tramp, who has nothing more to offer!

Rorie was ashamed of herself, but he should not have laughed. He should not have made her feel inferior. He should not have put pain into her heart. This is not what friendship is.

Behind her, in the mirror, Rorie saw her bedroom door open and she snatched her nightgown from the floor. "Mom!"

"Oh, Rorie, I'm sorry." Trinity turned her head as her daughter threw the nightgown over her head and pushed her arms through the sleeves. "I thought you were asleep."

"You could have knocked!"

"I didn't want to wake you." Trinity put some laundry on the bed, apologetically regarding the younger One as she folded her arms across her chest and looked down at the floor. "Are you alright? What's the matter?"

"I'm fine."

Trinity hesitated, didn't answer. Rorie seemed to curl into herself, hunched over as she stared at her toes. She was not fine. Was it the insomnia, Trinity wondered? Was it nightmares, like the ones Neo had suffered for weeks after his first brush with death and the matrix? But like Neo, Rorie was a difficult person to read, and one could not just ask her what was the matter. Uncertain, Trinity waited, wondering, hoping Rorie would say something. "Did you sleep at all?" she ventured.

"A little."

"If you want to talk…"

"I told you, I'm okay, Mom."

"You've been through a lot."

"Nothing you and Dad haven't been though before, right?"

"That's different."

"Because you're soldiers and I'm civilian who can't even pilot a ship let alone handle myself in the sewers."

Trinity was at a loss. This always happened when she and Rorie talked. Inevitably, it became confrontational. "Well," she said curtly, "your father is a shitty pilot, too. We don't talk about it much, but once he depolarized the EM field and magnetized the hull. We were stuck to the roof of a support line for two days."

Usually, that story got great laughs at parties. Rorie barely smiled. "Yeah, but when you can blow up sentinels with your mind-"

"Rorie, there were knives and forks stuck to the wall. Knight was eating breakfast and his spoon flew up and hit him in the face. Left marks, you know, little indentations, because it was one of those sporks…"

"Yeah. Well, maybe he _deserved_ it."

"Funny, that's what your father said."

But it was not funny. Rorie turned away covered her face in her hands, and Trinity was utterly stunned. She put her arms around her daughter and hugged her, half-certain Rorie would push her away, but she didn't. Carefully, Trinity caressed the back of her head, wanting to kiss her but not having the nerve. This was a delicate moment. Rorie had always been a sensitive child, quick to tears, quick to anger, quick to forgiveness. Trinity had long suspected that Rorie did not like this particular facet of her own personality. Rorie hated to be caught crying, hated to lose her temper, inevitably cycling into a ditch of self-reproach after any indiscretion which she thought had exposed her as weak-minded. When she was a little girl, she used to write formal letters to the family after tantrums, which – with their superior grammar and formal turn-of-phrase - read more like official military memos than a twelve-year-old's note of apology.

**_To whom it may concern,_**

**_Yesterday's incident before dinner was indeed regretful, and I would like to take this opportunity to say that I'm sorry I lost my temper. The use of my microscope by Knight (WITHOUT MY PERMSSION!!!) for the purpose of examining his own bodily secretions was a GROSS violation of my rights (the pun is intended with great prejudice). But, in a civilized society, there are rules for proper conduct. As I have a privileged place in Zion and because people look up to me I should set a good example. So I should not have pulled his hair, and I'm sorry I made his nose bleed. In the future, I promise to be more rational and less emotional._**

**_Thank you for your understanding,_**

**_Aurora-Eon_**

**_04/01/2214_**

**_PS: Pyro says she's sorry she bit Knight but he deserved it and I need a new microscope now please._**

The reminder of Pyro put Trinity on alert. Over her daughter's shoulder, she looked for the dreaded creature, determined to kill it if it came near her. Amazing it was still alive, after all the times she'd tried 'accidentally' to poison it, squish it, drown it over the years. Damn thing was tougher to ice than an agent. And then Trinity noticed the dress hanging on the mirror, the backless violet day gown that she'd had made for Rorie two years ago.

"Oh, Mom, I'm so sorry! I don't know what's wrong with me."

"It's okay." Trinity lifted Rorie's chin up so she could see her face. "You have nothing to be sorry for. You're a brave girl. If it weren't for you, who knows where your father and I would be right now."

"Mom, my rescue operation was a disaster. I stole a ship, the Neb is a wreck, the Witch got away…"

"We're all alive, Rorie. That's all that matters. _You're_ alive." Trinity brushed some hair back from her daughter's forehead. "Let's not be ungrateful."

"Sorry."

Trinity shook her head. "No more of that. Come on, I'll make you something to eat. And uhm… I have shoes to go with that outfit if you want."

"Oh." Rorie turned her head to look at the dress. "No, I don't think I'll wear it. I mean, it's too dressy. I should save it for a special occasion."

"Actually tonight will be a special occasion. I'm having that family supper we missed. Morpheus and Niobe will be here, and all the usual crowd. I sent your father over to invite Knight…"

"What?!"

"I know, but I was hoping it would help if he went in person so they could have a talk. Turn over a new leaf, after what happened."

"He already _went_? This _morning_… ! Mom, why didn't you tell me!"

"You were asleep. And don't worry. I made your father promise not to say anything embarrassing. He told me it went fine and Knight will be here by five to help set up." Rorie turned so pale so fast, Trinity feared she might faint. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just mean, I wish I'd known. You see, I have… things to do tonight. At the lab."

"Well, you'll have to cancel them. I already promised everyone you would tell them how you rescued Neo and me from a fate worse than death. It's a great story. Your first real mission." Rorie opened her mouth but her mother, effervescing with pride, cut off any objection. "I can't wait to see the look of Niobe's face when Knight tells her he pulsed the guard in a free fall and then kick-started the engine with a high heel. It's going to be the highlight of the entire evening, when her jaw drops."

"Niobe's done things like that."

Trinity grinned triumphantly. "Not in _heels_, baby."

Before Rorie could demand an explanation as to why it mattered what was on his feet, her mother was off to make them a late lunch. Pyro began seething from her aquarium. How _dare_ Knight accept the invitation, hissed the spider! How _dare_ he impose his awful company on them! Knight was no longer vile. He was worse than vile! He was whatever vile things scrape off their boots after a long day of being vile in the vilest possible conditions! (Pyro described this mystery-sludge as something like toxic waste only uglier.)

Rorie threw herself onto the bed and covered her face with the pillow. She'd suffocate herself. She'd commit suicide and it would be all his fault! Let him live with the guilt! Let him carry on with the knowledge that he was indeed so vile, so toxic, he'd actually _killed_ someone!

When Rorie came up for air, Pyro scuttled up the side of the mirror and into the trumpet of the violet skirt. Wear it with your hair up, urged the spider. And find yourself a date. You mustn't be alone when Knight gets here. Even a spider knows that when it comes to ignoring someone, it's best not to be ignoring him all by yourself.


	3. The Twilight Zone

**3. The Twilight Zone**

**T**hat afternoon, Knight went to the marketplace and bought Rorie a pair of earrings. They were best he could afford, made of opaque, sky-blue glass, dangling from a base of white gold. He had the jeweller put them in a pewter box with a bow around the top, and when he was asked if he wanted an inscription on the bottom, Knight spent half an hour coming up with an appropriate message (much to the vender's annoyance).

_'With great affection, from Knight...' ?_

_'With grovelling apologies, from Knight...' ?_

_'From Knight, with love...' ?_

_'From Knight, without a clue...' ?_

If he were bound to unmitigated honesty, Knight would have been forced to settle with this last, most pathetic inscription. Why was he buying her earrings? What was he hoping to accomplish? Well, obviously, he was hoping Rorie wouldn't slam the front door in his face when he arrived for dinner, which, judging from the way they'd left things, she might very well do. But beyond the basic goal of reconciliation, he had no clearly defined plan.

His worst fear was that he'd act so stupidly that he'd destroy whatever was left of the friendship. If Rorie somehow discovered what he was feeling, she might be repelled, repulsed, amused - each adjective even worse than the last!

There was, however, one comforting alternative. Perhaps, Knight mused, he would arrive for dinner and discover that all of this was in his head. Maybe once he saw her, clearly in the light of day, he'd realize that his infatuation was not genuine, but a shallow consequence conjured by a shared brush with terror. A very significant part of him hoped it would be so. He could go to dinner, give her the earrings, patch up the friendship, and then swing by the sorority house on the way home (it was wet T-shirt night for the sophomores). Oh, how all would be well with the world!

Knight clung to this hope for as long as he possibly could. He clung to it on the elevator, and on the catwalk as we walked to her doorstep, and he clung to it still as he hesitated, playing with the box in his hands. His palms were sweaty. His heart was racing. It wasn't like anything he'd ever felt before.

He knocked. Then he hid the box behind his back.

The young woman who answered the door was, without exaggeration, the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. All hope for him, any chance of his ever recovering, was instantly, forever, gone. Any doubts he'd previously harboured, dashed. She was at once, the only person he could ever imagine himself ever wanting.

Rorie was wearing a magnificent purple dress, held up by a proud, almost aggressive posture, her shoulders arched back and her nose in the air. Her lips were painted beige, pursed in an unfriendly way, and her cheeks shimmered with a silver blush. Her eyelashes were longer, thicker, blacker, and the brown irides penetrated through him, into him, so that all he could do was stare back. He'd never seen her so deliberately made-up before. She looked like a fairy. But she had done it to punish him. She had done it to make him suffer.

"It's just a _dress_," she said. "You don't have to look at me like I'm from another planet."

He didn't move. Rorie raised a perfectly-shaped eyebrow. Daring him to speak. But Knight had had enough. Enough of this silliness! Enough of these games! "You're stunning," he said, seriously, matching her aggression. "Honestly, I can't take my eyes off you."

Her lips parted; the eyebrows rearranged into a questioning furrow. Knight held his ground, determined to communicate his sincerity. What Rorie was thinking, that Knight couldn't even guess at, was that he must be using hyperbole to compensate for his earlier rudeness. But if he had been rude, Knight certainly didn't know it. What she had taken for mockery was in fact veiled lust, and Rorie saw it again in his eyes now, though in this context it was clear that he was not making fun of her. She did not know what he was doing, but he was not making fun.

He presented a small box, wrapped with a blue ribbon. "I got you something. Just something small, almost nothing," he said. "Because I'm sorry for the mess this morning. I don't know what happened. Lately, when we're together, I can't seem to think straight."

Without a word, Rorie stepped aside to let him in. Before she even opened the gift, she knew she had made a terrible misjudgement. "You shouldn't have got me anything," she stammered, unknotting the tiny bow. Knight had given her gifts before, but this felt different. Honestly, she wasn't sure if she wanted it.

"Look on the bottom."

"_to my best friend_," she read, growing more devastated by the second. "_love_, _Knight_."

"I hope I can still call you that."

"Of course. You know that you are. That I am, I mean. You know what I mean." She would not look up at him. She was terrified of looking into his eyes again and seeing that unknowable expression. She hadn't expected this. Suddenly, everything was different.

"Open it."

Nervously, Rorie opened the box. "Oh, Knight. They're… they're beautiful."

"You like them?"

"Yes. I love them."

"They'll go perfectly with your dress. Here, give them to me; I'll put them on you."

Rorie did not want him to put them on her. She wanted to turn on her heel and run away from him, but for some reason, she handed over the earrings and said nothing. Like a person with no will of her own, she stood complacently still as he came close, much too close, far too quickly. She had no time to mount any defence, and her mind was reeling. What was happening? What had just changed?

Rorie looked down and away as Knight used one hand gently to tilt and steady her jaw. He smelled of soap and spice and skin, all of it warm, earthly, organic. He must have always smelled this way, but she'd never noticed it. Instead of noticing it further, she opted to hold her breath. That was when he fixed the first earring, and the side of her breast brushed against his arm, and the most horrible things happened to her. The sensitive tissue beneath her dress tightened and crinkled, and her cheeks grew hot and flushed. It were as if her body was unravelling for him, and she did not like it. She did not like it one bit.

Mortified he'd see her nipples through the dress, Rorie kept close to him, hunching slightly forward, the heat between their bodies unbearably, pricklingly humid. Knight went on to the second earring.

"There," he whispered. "Now you're perfect. More perfect."

She reached up and touched the dangling pieces of glass, her forearms covering her chest. "Thank you."

He wouldn't move away. "You're welcome."

Rorie looked back into his eyes. They frightened her. They excited her. Nobody had ever looked at her this way before. Was she looking at him like that? She couldn't know. She hoped not.

"This must be the hero, then."

Knight's head snapped up at the sound of another voice, and Rorie spun around a full one hundred and eighty degrees. "There you are!" she exclaimed, much too loudly, and flew towards the intruder. "I was wondering where you'd gone."

"I was getting the full story from Trin. The parts _you_ wouldn't tell me."

Knight hated the man instantly. Of course, he would have hated anyone who came into the room at that moment. But besides that, the guy had called Trinity 'Trin,' and was putting his arm around Rorie's half-naked waist. Who was this loser? He had short brown hair that was spiked in the front and, perhaps most distinctive of all, his eyes were of two different colors (the left one was blue, and the right one, brown). It wasn't an unattractive feature, but certainly it was distracting, and maybe, exotic. For some reason, this made Knight hate him more.

"Excuse me," Knight said, smiling tightly and with daggers. "Who are you?"

"Oh, where are my manners?" Rorie chirped, still speaking in a high-pitched squeal, as if someone were choking her. "Knight, meet Daye. Daye, meet Knight."

It sounded so ridiculous Knight thought she was joking. "No, no, that's actually my name," said The Loser, holding out his hand for a shake. "It's Daye, with an 'E' at the end."

"Mine's Knight. With a 'K' at the beginning."

"Right, right." Daye grinned as they shook. "I saw your picture in the paper this morning. You had on some… _interesting_ clothing, to say the least."

"It was Halloween."

"Yes, yes." Daye laughed. "But _still_. Oh, well, I guess it's a matter of taste."

Knight was still puzzled. Most puzzling of all to him was why this guy (who had the stupidest name he'd ever heard) was _touching_ Rorie. He was so confused, he couldn't even find the words to ask. Then, it all started playing out in front of him, like the most terrible horror film.

"Oh, are these new?" The Loser asked her, examining the earrings. "You weren't wearing them a moment ago."

"Yes, Knight brought them."

"They're beautiful. Though, with such lovely ears to hang from… well, it's hard to improve on _this_, right?"

Knight was being solicited for his opinion. What he wanted to do was punch Daye in the face. Or cry. Both, really. But instead, he stammered, "Impossible. She's perfect."

"You see. It isn't only me who thinks so."

Over Rorie's shoulder, Knight caught Trinity's eye. She had come out of the kitchen and was leaning on the door jamb, glaring at him meaningfully. "Knight, I could use a little help in here…" she said. "It's quite _important_."

Without a word to excuse himself, dazed and wounded, Knight followed her out of the room.

* * *

0000000

* * *

"Who the hell _is_ that guy!" Trinity hissed, the moment they were out of earshot. "Knight, why didn't you tell me about him!" 

"I didn't…" Knight could barely speak. He felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach. It was an actual, physical pain. How could he have been so stupid? Rorie's dress… the makeup… her erratic behaviour outside his apartment that morning… it was all because of Daye. To impress _him_. Because of _him_. The Oracle had been right all along.

"Knight!" Trinity barked, too upset to notice his pain. "What's going on here?"

"I didn't know," he muttered. "I swear to you, I had no idea."

"So you're saying she just… woke up this morning and decided she'd call some random guy for a date? Well?" The mother folded her arms and shook her head. "All I'm saying is, I would have appreciated some warning. You're supposed to be keeping boys _away_ from her, for God's sake. That's what you're good for."

"She never mentioned him to me."

"Well, _apparently_, he works in the lab with her… as a mineralogist or something. He spent twenty minutes telling me what the floor is made of. He's like a _second_ Rorie. It's uncanny."

"No… surely, they can't have that much in common."

Trinity guffawed. "That fucking spider _loves_ him. Go figure."

"I really hate Pyro."

"It isn't that he isn't a good guy…" Trinity trailed off and stole a glace through the door, ostensibly keeping an eye on the new couple. Knight couldn't bear to look. "I mean… Rorie wouldn't date just _anybody_. She isn't like you."

"Gee, thanks."

Trinity waved her hand impatiently. "You know what I mean. She's more cautious about things like this. She's more emotional about it. She could get hurt."

"He'd better not hurt her. I'll kill him."

"You might have to stand in line. Neo's out getting supplies. I don't know what he'll do when he gets back and finds _him_ here."

A tense silence ensued as Trinity paced the floor, brooding and biting at her lower lip. Knight was suddenly reminded of something he wanted to clarify. "You know, I'm not gay," he said. "I'd appreciate it if you could tell Neo that."

"What?"

"He and I had a perfectly _lovely_ chat this morning. Thank you _so much_ for sending him over."

Across the kitchen, Trinity scowled at him quizzically, then slapped her forehead with the palm of her hand.

* * *

0000000

* * *

"She's a fascinating specimen of sewer biology," Daye remarked, letting Pyro crawl from one palm to the other. The spider happily pranced around, feeling and tickling, snuggling and purring. "Vibrant colour… _two_ sets of spinnertets… exoskeletal armour on the abdomen _and_ sephalothorax… and look at these fangs… they're magnificent!" 

"Yes, they are," Rorie agreed. She was impressed he knew so much about entomology. She was even more impressed by how demonstrably Pyro adored him. It was nearly comical. "I think she likes you."

"Funny. Pyro just said told me the same thing about _you_."

He smiled, but Rorie couldn't find it in her heart to smile back.

The expression on Knight's face, the glint of betrayal in his eyes, just before her mother had called him from the room, was haunting her. It was also annoying her. What right did he have to feel betrayed? She had done nothing wrong! But it was also pulling at her, tugging at her heart – was he jealous? And if he was, is that what she'd wanted all along? What she'd felt when he'd fitted her with the earrings, what she'd felt that morning on the catwalk outside his apartment, the strangeness between them for the past few weeks, was all beginning to make sense.

"Rorie?"

"Hum?"

Daye chuckled. "You look like the world is coming to an end. Is everything alright?"

"No… I mean, I don't know. Daye, I think I might have made a mistake. Asking you here, I mean. I don't think I'm ready for this."

He put Pyro down and folded his arms. "It's _him,_ isn't it?"

"Who?"

"Knight. There's something between you."

"No, there isn't. Why would you--"

"Rorie, for a moment out there, I thought the guy was about to strangle me, and not just because I made fun of his Halloween costume."

Rorie slumped down on the bed. She couldn't believe what was happening – not that Daye was saying this, but that she was thrilled to hear it. Knight, _strangle_ Daye? Out of jealousy? How brutish! How wonderful!

"And, call it an instinct," he went on, "but your mother doesn't seem to like me much, either."

"Oh, ignore her. She's my _mother_. She doesn't like anybody except Knight."

"Well. I'm just saying… I'm not sure Pyro and I could take the pair of them."

Rorie smiled fleetingly. She felt more like crying, but she would not let that happen. "I'm so confused," she admitted. "He's my closest friend. I don't want that to change."

"You should talk to him."

"Lately, I can't seem even to _look_ at him. And after yesterday… he saved my life and yet all I've done is fight with him. He must think I'm really… really…"

"Bitchy?"

"_Excuse_ me. I was going to say crazy. The Daughter of The One could never be _bitchy_."

"But crazy?"

"Well, that's genetic."

He laughed. "Rorie, you talk to your spider. Really, if he doesn't think you're crazy by _now_…"

"But I'm not ready for this. I need… time. Daye, you mustn't tell anyone about this. Please. I'm trusting you to keep this a secret."

"And it's absolutely safe with me." Daye wasn't so insensitive that he'd tell Rorie that everyone at the lab had been convinced a long time ago that she was in love with Knight. It was an office joke that all of Zion knew about it but _them_. Of course, she was snobbish bookworm and he was a tramp with more kinks than a corkscrew, but every couple had their vices. As far as Daye was concerned, the whole thing had been dragged out long enough and the two of them might as well just rent a room and get it over with.

"You'll stay for dinner anyway, I hope," she said.

"What? You want to watch him squirm some more?"

This seemed to shock her. "No! Of course not!"

He laughed. She was like a piece of cellophane. "That was a joke. Of course I'll stay. But for the sake of my well-being, I don't think I'll put my arm around you again. I uhm… would like to _keep_ it."

She smiled, though it was a guilty smile. Daye could tell she did not want to be smiling at the idea of making him jealous. Clearly, Knight had an interesting road ahead of him with this girl. But she was beautiful, and she was very bright, and she was royalty after all, and years from now, Daye could tell people the story of how he was asked out by the Daughter of The One, but the only woman he was able to charm was the spider. In truth, he found the whole thing rather funny.

Pryo did not seem to share his good humour. As if sensing at the winds had changed and her preferred suitor had just been shown the door, the spider paced a circle on the dresser, spitting venom and grooming her fangs. Then, faster than Daye could catch her, she leapt onto the ground and ran from the room.


	4. Pyromania!

**4. Pyromania!**

**T**ogether, Trinity and Knight came up with a plan. It was a very simple plan. First, she would call Rorie into the kitchen to help her with dinner. Then, once Daye was alone, Knight would corner him and deliver their message. It wasn't a threat, exactly. Trinity and Knight agreed that 'threat' was a bad word. It was more of a promise. That they'd be watching him. And if he stepped out of line, or even thought about stepping out of line, there would be consequences.

They called it, "Operation Eclipse" (though if anyone asked them, they'd deny ever doing something as lame as naming their plan).

Knight convinced himself that he wasn't doing it for selfish reasons. He was doing it for Rorie. And for Trin, who was the real mastermind of Operation Eclipse. She had every right to lay down the law as far as her daughter was concerned, and Knight could not say no to his commanding officer.

They took turns swigging from a bottle of cooking wine before going to work. "Hurry up, before Neo gets here," she said. "Or you'll never get a moment alone with him."

"You think he'll accuse Daye of being gay, too?"

"Oh, shut up and _go_." Then she hollered more loudly, "Rorie! Will you come and help me in the kitchen, please? _Alone_?"

Moments later, Rorie left her bedroom with Daye a step behind her. Knight's blood boiled at the thought that they'd been in there, _alone_, together. What had they been doing? They looked guilty of something. Had he kissed her? Had he touched her? Knight tried to catch Rorie's attention as she walked past him to the kitchen, but she wouldn't even spare him a glance. It was like he didn't exist. It was her way of sending him a message. She had moved on. She wanted someone else.

It was then Knight asked himself, what if she really did want someone else? How would he respond to that? What kind of man would he be? Would he be the type to stand in her way, to sabotage her relationships out of spite and jealousy? Surely, he was better than that. Surely, he wanted her to be happy. And if Daye made her happy…

"Dude. You okay?"

Knight frowned. "I need to talk to you."

"Knight, look, I'm sorry about what I said about your Halloween costume…"

"That isn't it. It's about Rorie."

"Oh, no. Look, before you say anything to me, maybe you should talk to Rorie."

Knight smirked and led Daye to the far side of the room. "I assure you, Rorie and I are _always_ on the same page," he murmured. "We're very close. So whatever you think I should talk to Rorie about, I promise you, we've already talked about it. Probably more than once. Probably, we talk about it all the time."

"…Ok."

"My point is, I know Rorie a lot better than you do. I know what she's been though these past few days. She's in a vulnerable place right now, and I don't want to see anybody take advantage of that."

"…Ok."

"Trinity and I have talked about it, and we've decided that it's probably not a good idea for you to get any ideas, is what I mean. Oh, and stop calling her Trin. Only I can do that. Oh, and Neo. But mostly, me."

"…Ok."

"Stop saying Ok."

"O… Alright."

"Rorie's really important to me, and if anything happens to her… you know, I'm in the army. Trin's in the army, too. And we're not saying we'll hurt you… but… we are _strongly__implying_ that we'll hurt you."

"You're in love with her, aren't you?"

"… What? With Trin? No!"

"Ew. I was talking about Rorie."

"Oh. No!"

"Look, I don't want to get in the middle of this. Maybe it's better if I just leave. Tell Rorie I'm sorry I couldn't stay."

Daye turned to leave but Knight grabbed him by the arm. "What? No, you're not going anywhere!"

"Huh?"

"Nobody, and I mean _nobody_ ditches Rorie on a date. Do you have any idea who she _is!?_ That's the Daughter of The One in there!"

"Knight, you've got this all wrong."

Knight shushed him, and led them both further into the corner. "Alright, _alright_," he hissed. "Look, I'll come clean with you. Yes, yes… I might have feelings for her. Who wouldn't? She's beautiful. She's smart. She's sweet. She's….but… she obviously doesn't feel that way about me. So there's no reason why she needs to know. And if you tell her I'll friggin' kill you."

"But what I'm trying to tell you is--"

"No, listen. Look, I might not want you here. It might be killing me to see you with her. But if you leave, Rorie is going to be really disappointed, and I won't be responsible for that. So I'll tell you what you're going to do. You're going be a gentleman and show her a good time. You're going to treat her like the goddess that she is, because that's what she deserves. Understand?"

Daye sighed. Knight could tell by the expression on The Loser's face that he'd made his point. "Alright, you win, Knight. I'll stay," Daye said.

The conversation trailed off as a key turned in the front door, and Neo walked through carrying two bags of groceries. Behind him on the catwalk, a few cultists were waving dolls. "Yes, bless you. Bless you," he said indulgently, before slamming the door shut. "God, I hate my life."

"Good afternoon, sir."

"Knight." Neo put the parcels down, and nodded at the third party. "Who's this?"

"This is Daye," said Knight.

"With an 'E,'" Daye clarified. "I'm here on a date."

"Oh, well." Neo smiled awkwardly, looking from one young man to the other. "Well, you two are very… nice together. Daye and Knight. Like Ying and Yang. Very romantic. Very Zen."

Daye scowled. "… Excuse me?"

"He's on a date with _Rorie_," Knight growled through clenched teeth.

Neo's expression was priceless. "He'd better not be."

It was at this point that Daye decided he had had enough. This was officially the _worst_ date he'd ever been on! The girl didn't even like him, the mother and best friend wanted to kill him but wouldn't let him leave, and the father thought he was gay. It couldn't possibly get any worse.

Then, Trinity screamed. Glasses shattered. Rorie ran from the kitchen and announced, "Pyro's gone crazy!"

Trinity was up on a chair. "Kill it!" she yelled, pointing to the spider. "Kill it now! Knight!"

"Mom, no!" Rorie tried to catch Pyro but she was too fast. "Knight, please, don't hurt her."

It a flagrant display of ego and exhibitionism, Knight pulled off his shirt and tried to use the fabric as a net. Trinity's screams were so insistent that he only posed-and-flexed briefly before chasing the spider across the floor and up onto the countertop.

"I've got you now," he said as the spider backed into the space between the toaster and the fridge. Pyro hissed at him, her fangs glistening in the light. Knight hissed back, "You're _mine_."

He lunged forward with his shirt but missed, and Pyro buried herself in the mess of electrical work that ran behind the counters. Knight reached after her, determined not to be made a fool of, reaching his hand down as far as it would go.

The sudden rush of pain was unbelievable. At first he thought she'd bitten him and he tried to yank his hand back, but he had no control over his body. He jerked backward and thrashed to the side before finally flying through the air, against the opposite wall.

Rorie screamed, and Trinity leapt off her chair to turn over his body. "Oh, God," she gasped, feeling for a pulse. "Oh, God, no. Knight!" She leaned in to check his breathing. "Knight!"

Nobody spoke or moved as Trinity delivered CPR. After a second round of compressions Rorie started to sob. Trinity started to yell. "Call the medics! Goddamn it, _hurry!"_

* * *

0000000

* * *

Later, the paramedics would agree that they had never treated a patient before who was so happy to have been electrocuted. "Are you _sure_ I was dead?" Knight asked eagerly. "Technically, _really_, dead?" 

"Yes, sir. Dead as a doornail."

"Excellent!" he smacked his hands together. "Perfect! It's all going according to plan!"

"Are you sure he hasn't suffered any brain damage?" Trinity asked, genuinely concerned. She stood by his bedside at fleet medical and checked his chart for the third time. "Maybe you missed something."

"No, ma'am. How he is now… well, _this_ is the way he was before the accident. Hard to believe, but true."

Trinity folded her arms and frowned the doctors out of the room. "I'm going to call for a second opinion," she said. "They're idiots."

"Trin, I'm okay." Knight smiled dreamily. "In fact, I'm better than okay. I'm on my second life. A whole new lifetime. Just like Rorie."

"Yes, thank you for reminding me that I've nearly lost both of you in the past twenty four hours."

"No, you don't understand. The Oracle told me that something I asked about wouldn't happen in _this_ lifetime. But that was _last_ lifetime. Now it's a whole new lifetime, which means I've got a shot."

"A shot at what?"

"I'd better not say. If I say, it won't come true."

"That's the birthday wish. Prophecies are different."

"Sorry, I'm not taking any chances. It's too important."

Trinity rolled her eyes. "Well, I hope whatever it is, it was worth being electrocuted for."

"Yup."

"And scaring me to death for."

"Definitely worth it." Trinity gave him an even stare, prompting Knight to wipe the smile off his face. "Sorry, Trin."

"That's better." She nodded and stood up. "Well, I'm going to get going. Let you sleep. You going to be alright here, by yourself tonight?"

"Oh, you know, it'll be pretty lonely without _just anyone_ sharing my bed."

"Hm." She grinned. "I'll send a few nurses in."

"Nice. Make sure they're _just any_ nurses. Blindfold yourself before picking them, will you?"

"All right. That'll do." Trinity fussed with his blankets, tucking them under the mattress, and then shut off the light. "Goodnight."

"Night." He leaned back on the pillow and listened to her footsteps retreat. At the last minute he said a quick 'thank you' to her. Trinity didn't answer, but she paused for a moment before leaving.

Moments later, the door opened again. "That was quick," he said. "How many nurses did you find?"

"It's just me."

"Oh! Rorie." Knight sat up and reached for the lamp. "Hey."

"Hey. I sort of… snuck in. Mom didn't want anyone to bother you."

"You're not bothering me."

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I mean, I know that you are but… I wanted to see."

"Uhm, I want to clarify. What I said earlier, about the nurses… I don't really want any nurses. That was just a joke."

"Huh? I don't—what nurses? Do you need a nurse?"

"Never mind. Just forget it. It's nothing."

Rorie sat in the chair next to his bed. She had changed out of her dress and into sweatpants and a T shirt, but, significantly, she was still wearing the earrings. Knight couldn't keep himself from staring at her. He was amazed by how different she was; in a matter of days, she was transformed. The change was entirely in himself, he realized, a projection of his more tender feelings. But at the same time, he couldn't imagine having ever seen anything less. She was _so_ beautiful. He looked and looked.

The entire time, Rorie kept her eyes glued to the wall.

"Sorry I ruined your date," he said after awhile.

"Oh?" She shook her head. "That wasn't… I mean, I think it was ruined before you got electrocuted."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I don't think it's going to work out between Daye and me." She shrugged. "Didn't feel right I guess."

"I'm sorry."

"You are?"

She finally looked at him, and he didn't want to lie. He wanted to tell her, tell her that he was jealous and she'd hurt him, and that he'd do anything to make her happy if she'd give him a chance. "Not really," was all he could say. "I mean, if it wasn't right. I want it to be right for you."

"You do?"

"Yes, of course."

Rorie looked down at her hands and then back at him. "The thing is, Knight… I don't think I'm ready. At least, not yet. I need time to decide. To think about it. It takes me time to decide these things. And I don't have any experience… you know, I'm not like you."

"Yeah… I uhm, I've been told that."

"I don't know if you understand what I mean. Maybe I'm making an idiot of myself… I want to think that we understand each other. That you know that I need time. We must be very careful, if..."

"_If?" _

Rorie shook her head and smiled. Wouldn't answer him. Instead, she looked up at his hair, which was a dense ball of blonde fuzz, not unlike an afro. She reached out and played with it, quizzically poking into the mess with two fingers. Unable to stop himself, Knight caught her wrist, gently. When he released his grip, her hand fell into his - palm to palm, and their fingers laced together.

"Something's happened, hasn't it?" she whispered.

"Yes."

"So fast. So suddenly."

"Yes."

"Knight, I need time."

"I need _you_."

Rorie caught her breath at the declaration, and Knight, who was amazed that he'd had the courage to say it, waited. Rorie tried to pull her hand back but he hung on insistently.

"Knight, please."

"You invited Daye to hurt me? To make me crazy?"

She looked at him a good while before answering, "Yes. I think so."

"He doesn't mean anything. Say he doesn't."

She whispered, barely audible, "He doesn't mean anything,"

"Rorie-"

"I need time. I can't do this now. Not here. Knight, please, let me go. Just give me time to figure this out."

"I'd wait for you forever." For the second time, she tried to pull her hand away, but he held it for a moment longer. "I swear it," he said. "You must believe me."

"I do." Knight stared into her eyes, desperate to get something more. "I do," was all she'd say.

A second later and she was gone. Knight didn't try to stop her, even though he thought it was the cruellest thing imaginable, for her to leave him again, to make him suffer. For the second night in a row, he would hardly sleep. He would think of her. He would wait. He would entertain fleeting hopes that she'd come back and reconsider. And finally, Knight would dream of what might happen if and when she actually did.


End file.
